


The Heir

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Fic Exchange, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walda and Roose decide what to name their son and Walda reflects on the last days of the war and how things have changed. Future!fic.</p><p>Written for bela0103 at <a href="http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/">got_exchange on LiveJournal</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heir

“Don’t you want to hold your son?” Walda chided. “All you’ve done lately is go on and on about your heir.” The baby clutched her finger in his tiny hand and she giggled, leaning her face closer. “You’re adorable, little one…and your father is being so silly.” He laughed along with his mother and she kissed the top of his head. “Yes he is, little darling.” 

“I have no idea what to do with a baby.” 

She shook her head. “And do you think that I did when they first handed him to me? That Tarly boy was petrified. It was a wonder that he didn’t drop the poor thing right there and then.” She didn’t like to think about their son’s birth, during the last days of the war, when they’d been kept under house arrest near the Wall. When Walda’s labor had begun, the only one present with any medical knowledge had been a half-educated not-quite-Maester not many years older than she, but somehow, things had gone all right. Frey women were hardy and Walda’s delivery had been easy. But those days were dark ones, long and monotonous. She had not been permitted any contact with the outside world and had to wonder at what went on outside of Castle Black, the screams of men and worse her only hints. And more immediately, she hadn’t known what they would do to her husband. 

When they finally permitted her to see Roose, after the battle for the Wall had ended, she’d been unable to talk for crying and he’d held her tightly, just as silent, both of them ill at ease and quite lost. She’d been so big with child that it was awkward for him to do even that. And when they were reunited, after the remnants of the Night’s Watch had ascertained that she was of no risk, Walda was always at his side like a frightened shadow, terrified of losing him, losing the child, or both. She never did decide which would have been worse.

They had stood in the snow one evening just before the end, watching as the Red Woman burned Ramsay alive, a victory sacrifice for her alien god. Walda had gripped Roose’s hand so hard that he’d cried out, and something in her had blazed with a fierce joy when she watched her stepson writhe and heard him scream. She supposed that that was just the Bolton influence, creeping into her at last. But Walda was just glad to have her husband, her life back. She preferred a quiet life at the Dreadfort to those awful days at Winterfell, and while they were still attended by a representative of the crown, to ensure their cooperation and loyalty, things were easy. 

But the dark times were over, things were as normal as they could be, and they were home. After swearing fealty to the boy king who’d somehow been shielded from the worst, and handing over his bastard, Roose had been permitted to live, although he was stripped of his title and most of his lands. They were awarded to that red-haired girl with the cool demeanor, the last Stark they said, and Walda remembered how in awe she was of her beauty and composure when they’d paid her homage and bent the knee to her as well. They’d called all of those reparations. Walda had called it a godsend.

Walda didn’t bother thinking about the cool lies that Roose had told to save himself, or the ones that she’d sworn. None of that mattered to her, as long as he was hers again, and they were both together. Besides, most of those who knew the truth were long dead. They could afford their honor. 

She’d always been so skilled at looking the other way, especially when it was for love. 

“You’re not naming that child Walder,” Roose said, in an attempt to change the subject. “Considering the outcome, that name has quickly fallen out of favor.” They’d been superstitious, waiting until they _knew_ to name the poor little thing, and it was high time.

Walda shook her head. “I wouldn’t.” The baby nuzzled at her breasts and she allowed him one to nurse. That would keep him occupied for a time. “I was thinking of something else, something a bit more…favorable.”

“Tell me that it’s not Tommen.” 

She shook her head. Although it had been tempting to honor the boy king with such homage, his sweet nature and gentle rule a welcome change after years of strife, she had a different idea. “I was thinking of Samwell.”

“Samwell?” He was confused. “Why _that_?” 

Walda smiled. “If it weren’t for Maester Sam at the Wall, _he_ would not be here.” She shook her head. “You remember, of course.”

“Of course.” 

The baby, sated, had fallen asleep. Walda rose carefully, and gently laid the child in his crib, covering him with blankets, swaddling him against the cold. Roose stood beside her, watching him sleep. 

“Perhaps he’s not so bad,” he said finally. “He does look like you, after all.” He reached out a hand, tentatively, and touched the baby’s hair. 

Walda’s expression was introspective and she realized that after all that had happened, she was really more of a woman now than a girl. The thought was strange. “He has your eyes, though,” she said, squeezing her husband’s hand. He surprised her by putting his arms around her, and she relaxed there. Roose had never been very affectionate, although he’d always been kind to her, and after everything fell, he’d withdrawn even more. Of course, they still bedded together and took meals together, but for the longest time it had been strange, and she’d hidden her tears, weeping behind closed doors and late at night while he slept soundly. But as time passed, things were better and she found that she could even laugh again, though not as before. 

It was strange, to laugh when most of her family was dead. She found though, that she did really not miss them. They would make their own family, she and Roose, and it would be better. It would be greater, if not in number than in purpose, she hoped. 

When they’d finally gone to bed, he relented and let her have her Sam. It wasn’t unpleasant, and it suited the child, who was placid and plain-faced and sweet. Just as the Maester had been. Just as his mother was. She kissed Roose then, pleased with herself, pleased that she’d finally learned how to get her way, and how to find her way, and when he leaned over her, apparently wanting more, she held up a hand. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she said softly, smiling slightly, “I do. It’s just that before, you should know…”

His expression was benign, but when she demurred, it grew slightly colder. Just a bit. “What is this, then?” 

“It is no farce, lord husband, I assure you. But you should know something.” Her smile widened. “I am again with child.” 

She felt him relax as he absorbed her news. She’d known for a few days but had held it in, keeping it to herself like a sweet secret, and to finally be able to release it was even more delightful. The slight smile on her husband’s face, the kiss he gave her, which was quite deeper than any they’d shared for some time, the way that he clutched her tightly, all of this made her want to weep. But she’d done enough of that. 

“You’re pleased,” she said, trying not to laugh as he pressed her body against his. 

“I couldn’t be more delighted. Maybe we should name this one Tommen after all.” 

She shook her head. “No. Call it after that wolf-queen in Winterfell, for all I care. I’m hoping for a girl.” 

She permitted herself to laugh then, a real laugh that she couldn’t stop, and she’d not done that since before the war when she was the newly-made Lady Bolton, everything was a delightful game, and nothing, or no one, could touch her. Finally, it stopped, silenced by her husband’s lips, although the smile remained on her face as their bodies entwined. After they bedded, Walda lay awake for a time, listening to her husband as he slept, listening for the baby’s cries, but he was peaceful.


End file.
